“You can call this your home away from home, Keely Moreno. The house has been vacated. The owners won’t be returning this season. I’m leaving you for a while. But never fear. I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?”
A slap in the face was my answer. My cheek smarted, but at least I lay on the bed and he couldn’t knock me down.
“Don’t try to escape. If you should be so unlucky as to get outside, you’ll face wildlife. Raccoons, hungry raccoons. Deer. Snakes. Iguanas, wild and determined. Those big lizards can be treacherous. And alligators. There are lots of fresh-water holes in the thicket. A couple of ’gators live in each hole. And in addition to the animals, you could wander into poisonwood and manchineel trees. Natives used to tie a victim under a manchineel and let the sap drip on him. Ate flesh to the bare bone.”
At last he left me alone, bound, partially blindfolded, and in the dark. Once he was gone, I knew that all the wildlife wasn’t outside the house. Tiny footsteps scurried across the bare floor. Scurry. Scurry. No. I was not alone.
THIRTY-ONE
I began trying to free myself from the tape that almost blocked the circulation to my fingers. I tried to pull my wrists apart with no success. My skin felt so tender I wondered if my wrists were bleeding. With great effort I raised my body to a sitting position. Once upright, I fumbled at my blindfold, and although I managed to jerk it from my eyes, the house was inky black. I could see nothing.
I tried to ignore the nauseating odor of duct tape while I dug my teeth into an edge of it that bound my wrists. After several minutes I felt it loosening and I spit gritty fragments from my tongue. After more struggling, I heard the tape rip apart. My fingers tingled as blood rushed to them. When I finished easing the tape from my wrists, I touched my skin. I felt no blood so I guessed I wasn’t bleeding. I flexed my fingers until I could bend them easily before I ripped the tape from my ankles.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I rubbed my wrists and then my ankles while I tried to work out a plan for coping with my predicament. When I stamped my feet to help restore circulation, the mice sounds ceased. Rat sounds? I tried to believe the creatures I’d heard scampering about were more frightened of me than I of them. I also tried to figure out what sort of house imprisoned me. Could this be someone’s abandoned vacation home? If so, why had they abandoned it?
I managed to stand and pull the cell phone from my pocket. What good would it do to call 911 if I couldn’t tell the dispatcher my location? Somewhere near Big Pine Key was too vague an answer to be helpful. No use to call Gram. She couldn’t hear a hurricane once she dropped to sleep with her earplugs in place. Punt. I could call him and at least tell him I was safe for the moment.
I keyed in his number. Nobody answered. No voice asked me to leave a message. Maybe he didn’t have his phone turned on. Maybe this. Maybe that. Lots of maybes, but I knew nobody would rescue me from this forsaken spot anytime soon. Maybe not anytime in my lifetime.
Forget that idea, Keely. Think positive. This’s no time for negative thoughts.
Standing up, I took a few tentative steps. Since I’d been flung onto a bed, I tried to visualize a bedroom. I groped my way with hands outstretched until my fingertips touched a wall, then I followed the wall, walking around a dresser, a chest, a chair until I reached a doorway. I entered another room, and after more groping and feeling, I touched a table. Running my hands across its dusty top, I brushed into a candle—and near it a box of kitchen matches.
My fingers shook as I struck a match on the side of the box and blinked at the sudden flame. Never had sulphur smelled so good! I lit the candle, noting its stubbiness, knowing the flame would be short-lived. Holding the candle high, I studied my surroundings. Kitchen. Well, a kitchen of sorts. A wood-burning stove dominated one wall and an ice-box type refrigerator another… Wood stove? Ice box? Primitive! No wonder the owners bailed out. Maybe it had been some druggie’s hideout rather than a visitor’s vacation home.
I examined the walls and didn’t see what I knew I wouldn’t see—light switches. Electrical outlets. This house had no electricity.
“Who’d live in such a place?” I began talking to myself. Somewhere I’d read that only crazy people talked to themselves, but Gram sometimes talked to herself and she wasn’t crazy. Right now my Keely-to-Keely conversation made me feel less abandoned and alone.
“Who would live in such a house as this?” That question kept replaying through my mind. “Was this was someone’s fishing shack? Where would such a shack be located? Was there water close by?”
I asked, but nobody answered.
I remembered reading feature articles about No Name Key—human-interest articles, Punt called them. I racked my brain and details from some of the articles came to mind. A bridge separated No Name Key from Big Pine Key. No Name Key used to be a ferry stop for travelers in Marathon on their way to Key West. But that was long ago. The ferry had been obsolete for years. Today most people avoided No Name Key—unless they lived there, or unless they were tourists determined to catch a glimpse of a Key deer or enjoy a beer at No Name Pub before they trekked north.
Several of the articles had mentioned that many people who lived on No Name were reclusive types wanting little more than privacy. Every now and then the Citizen carried headlines about No Name residents taking a vote on whether to bring electricity, water, or telephone lines to their island. Some home owners would have welcomed modern conveniences, but the vote always came out negative and the residents continued to use electricity from their own generators and solar panels and water from their wells and cisterns.
Punt said he knew a couple of artists, brilliant creative types, who lived on No Name on a houseboat, home-schooled two kids and sent them off to college where they both earned graduate degrees. Did those kids ever return at holiday time to visit good old Mom and Dad? I tried to forget other tales—stories of people who’d disappeared and who’d last been seen on No Name. I also recalled newscasts about bodies found here and never claimed by next-of-kin. I didn’t want my name on either of those lists.
I began searching for more candles, finding none. My stomach knotted when I realized I held the last bit of light I might see until morning. I used what remained of the lighted stub to explore.
The house consisted of three rooms—two bedrooms and this combination kitchen and dining room. No bathroom. What did I expect? Gold fixtures and a flush toilet? I guessed there must be a necessary house out back, but I didn’t need it yet. Thank goodness. I tried both the outside doors. Locked. I found only five windows locked and shrouded with heavy cotton. I hesitated before pulling a drapery aside. What if someone saw the flicker from my candle and came to investigate? A person who enjoyed living in the seclusion of No Name Key might be more dangerous than the kidnapper who dumped me here.
No point in opening the draperies now. My watch hands pointed to midnight. I tried calling Punt again. Still no answer. I thought again about calling 911, but if I told the dispatcher I thought I might be on No Name Key, would she listen to me? Or would she think it a crank call keyed in by some jokester? But I’d feel super stupid if my captor returned and I hadn’t tried to call for help.
I punched 911 on the keypad and I had to clear my throat twice before I could respond to the calm voice on the line.
“Where are you, miss?”
“I’m not sure. I may be somewhere on No Name Key. A man kidnapped me in Key West and drove me to this isolated place. I’m in a house—a shack. No electricity. No water. I’m calling you by candlelight and the stub’s about to splutter out.”
“Are you injured?”
“No. I was bound with duct tape, but I’ve worked myself free.”
“What do you see around you outside?”
“I can’t get outside. The doors and windows are locked. I peeked from behind a drapery into total darkness. No moon. No stars. Dark. I suppose I could break a window and escape, but then what? I don’t know where I’d…” I gulped before I could continue. “�
�find any help.” I didn’t tell the woman I’d be scared to death to be outside with night creatures and trees that could drip poison.
“Stay where you are for the time being, Miss. We’ll do what we can to find you using the information you’ve been able to provide. Give us your cell phone number please.”
I gave her my number and she hung up. Stay where you are. The words echoed in my mind. As if I had a lot of choices. I walked to the ice box. No food. That didn’t surprise me. People closing a house in the Keys seldom leave food. Too many cockroaches and rodents. Gram says that when humans abandon a house, even temporarily, wood rats living in nearby palms move in the next day. I searched the cupboard for food and had better luck there—a tin of crackers, a can of beans, a can of Coke.
Forget the beans. I couldn’t find a can opener and I didn’t want to waste candlelight by looking for one. I feasted on saltines, washing them down with Coke that must have lost its fizz sometime during the Ice Age. Food had never tasted so good. When exhaustion overtook me, I stretched out on the bed. After the candle wick hissed and died in a pool of melted paraffin, a waxy odor hung in the air. I didn’t realize how much comfort that candle had offered until dark pressed in on me again. What if the kidnapper returned yet tonight? If he had murdered Dyanne Darby, a second murder might offer little challenge to his conscience.
Now with the candle out, I found my way to a window and opened the drapery. I saw nothing but blackness on the other side of the glass. I lay down on the bed again and tried to come up with some plan that might save me. I wondered what it would be like to live without fear, to feel sure that my life was going to count for something to someone.
If I died in this filthy place, Gram would be devastated. She might wonder if her genes held a contamination that caused her next of kin to be murdered. And the Ashfords—not just Punt, but the whole family that had helped me survive Jude Cardell. I couldn’t let their faith in me die on No Name Key. I’d prided myself on being a survivor. I’d hang on—someway.
I tried to keep awake and on guard, to prod my brain into creating some life-saving idea, but I kept dozing and I slept fitfully until dawn began to turn the blackness into gray. My whole body ached from yesterday’s sojourn in the car trunk as well as from hours on this hard bed.
I tried calling Punt again and my whole being went on red-alert when he answered. My need to talk to him tangled my thought and my words until I paused to sort them out.
“Where are you, Keely? What’s the problem?”
This time I forced myself to talk slowly when I repeated the happenings in my life from yesterday afternoon until this morning. How, I wondered, could so much have taken place in so short a time?
“You’ve no idea who the guy is or where he went?”
“No idea at all. I’ve looked through the window and I don’t see any sign of human habitation anywhere near. I only see scrub thicket. I think I may be on No Name Key.”
“That’s probably a good guess. I don’t know of any other place that has areas as isolated as this one you describe. Here’s what I want you to do. Call 911 again and repeat your story. I’ll also call 911 and confirm your story so they’ll get on the ball with their search. I’m coming to find you, but you’re going to have to be outside where I can see you. And carry a pillow case or a towel with you so you’ll have something to wave overhead to attract attention.”
“I’m locked in.”
“Be real, Keely. Heads up! Break a window. And be quick about it. It’s time for a serious reality check. That guy could return any time. Take a chair, smash the window pane, and crawl through the opening. Now that it’s daylight, get as far from the house as you can. Look for a clearing, stand in it. If you see the kidnapper returning, duck into the thicket. I’m going to rent a helicopter and come looking for you.”
“A helicopter? Do you know how to fly…”
“I’ll rent a pilot along with the chopper. No point in driving. You’ll be easier to spot from the air. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Now get out of that house and hide—in plain sight, of course. Don’t be afraid—well be afraid if you can’t help it, but don’t panic. That’s the important thing. Don’t let fear throw you into a panic.”
“I’m not afraid,” I lied. “And I won’t panic. You be careful, Punt. Remember, this guy has a gun.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I love you, Keely. Don’t forget that.”
Punt broke our connection before I could tell him I loved him, too. I’d make that up to him later. Right now I had to forget about wild animals and manchineel trees and get out of this house. I saw no pillowcase. My head had been on a dirty pillow ticking. Yuck! Now was no time to be worrying about hygiene. I was alive, wasn’t I? For right now, that was enough and I wanted the condition to last a long time.
In the kitchen I found a tattered towel before I rushed to the window and peered outside. What did manchineel trees look like? Did they have thorns? Three-leaf clusters? Smooth bark? Shaggy bark? I decided to avoid touching any kind of tree I didn’t recognize. That meant none except palms, sea grape, and mangrove. My experience with trees is limited.
I picked up a straight-backed kitchen chair then set it down again while I stuffed some crackers into my pockets, taking care not to smash my phone or miniature tape recorder. Again I picked up the chair and approached a window, closing the drapery across it so glass shards wouldn’t fly everywhere when I smashed the pane. After grabbing a deep breath, I gave the window a whack with a chair leg.
The glass remained intact. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to use the drapery for padding. I whacked again, this time at the bare pane, and I jumped back when I heard the glass break. Some of it fell outside the window and some inside, and slivers of it still hung in the window frame. Removing a shoe, I knocked the slivers from the frame and put my shoe back on.
I’d started to lift one foot through the opening when I saw the iguana and froze in place. This creature looked nothing like Maxine’s pet. It looked as if it might be the granddaddy of all iguanas. It had the dragon-like head, but its body was mostly a gray-brown shade instead of green, and dark gray bands ringed its super-long tail. An orange-colored pouch on its throat throbbed. In. Out. In. Out. I shuddered. The biggest difference between this creature and Lavonna lay in its size. It was super huge and it didn’t look as if might go away anytime soon. In fact, it seemed very curious about me as it inched toward the broken window, lifting its head and snorting through its nose.
THIRTY-TWO
Before I had time to retreat from the window and search for some sort of a weapon to discourage the iguana, my phone rang. The creature rose and placed its forepaws on the windowsill as if it might try to climb inside the house.
“Keely,” Punt said. “I thought of another thing that might help me find you. You might…” His voice faded away as my phone battery died. Frantically, I tried to call him back. No luck. Now I felt totally alone and abandoned and threatened by the iguana. And I needed the outhouse.
I looked again at the window and I thought for a moment the iguana had gone away. But no. When I peered outside I saw it sitting in a patch of weak sunshine right beneath the window.
“Scat! Shoo!” I yelled at the creature and leaned out the window to snap the towel at it.
No response.
“Hello, buddy.” I tried softening my voice and smiling at him, but he didn’t smile back, nor did he make any sound at all. But that was better than the snorting I’d heard earlier.
Do iguanas bite? When I’d asked Maxine, she’d said they bite veggies and she’d given Lavonna lettuce. I hoped biting humans wasn’t one of their favorite pastimes. I knew they could climb. What if this one looked inside again then decided to climb through the window? He might be searching for food and view me as his next snack. Or maybe he was merely surprised to see me and curious about my appearance.
Finding a pan and a spoon, I returned to the window and played that pan like a bass drum. The sudden noise breaking the morni
ng silence shocked me as well as the iguana and it took off, heading for the thatch palms at the side of the house. Once I felt sure the creature wouldn’t return, at least for the moment, I crawled through the window and stood on the porch, pan and spoon at the ready, assessing my situation. Not good. I wondered how long this thicket had been encroaching on the house. But at least the rain had stopped and the sun was shining. I’d almost forgotten yesterday’s downpour.
The outhouse! Where was it? I stepped from the porch and staying close to the house, I walked toward the back door, watching for the iguana with each step. A short distance behind the house I saw a small shed, complete with a half moon opening carved in the door that hung open on rusty hinges to reveal—a two-holer. Tentatively, I poked my head inside the shed then backed off, brushing at a web that clung like sticky threads to my face and neck. In the next instant, a brown spider scurried across the splintered bench to a hiding place inside one of the holes. I gave up all thought of using the two-holer and relieved myself behind the shed, one ear alert for sounds of the iguana and the other ear alert for any sound of my captor returning. What if he came back for me? What did he want? What would he do?
After returning to the front of the house, I stooped to examine the tire tracks in the mud near the front door. Had I been a true detective I’d have taken a picture of those tracks or perhaps preserved them in a plaster cast. Too bad I’d forgotten to bring a camera or plaster-of-Paris with me. A hiding place. That’s the thing I needed most now. If I stayed right here, my kidnapper might return at any moment to do whatever he planned to do. If I disappeared into the thicket I might have to face the iguana, or perhaps some of its near relatives. I hated all my options. Had it been a multiple choice test, I’d have checked “none of the above.” But at least the iguana toted no gun.
I stepped into the thicket at the front of the house, walking in the muddy tire tracks, and planning to follow them to the larger road we’d traveled last night. But how dumb! If the guy returned, that’s the route he’d probably use. And he might see me before I could take cover. I stepped into a growth of scrub pines at the side of the tire tracks to rethink my escape, and I froze in place when I heard something near me. Branches broke and dried sawgrass taller than my shoulder swayed against a backdrop of sky. Iguana? Alligator?
Cold Case Killer Page 23
