Glossed and Found

by Ink, India

  I jotted down names and phone numbers until the sound of a wash of rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows startled me. I glanced outside. The clouds had thickened; they were dark and pregnant with rain, looming over the ocean as they made their way across Port Samanish Island. Thanksgiving would be wet and gloomy, as usual.

  I finished my list and started another, this one of chores we needed to finish before Thursday, which was Thanksgiving. Clean the bathrooms, pick up the turkey—which we’d ordered fresh rather than frozen—make the pumpkin pies, buy dinner rolls from Barbara’s bakery, make the cranberry sauce. Since Auntie always decorated for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving, we’d haul out the decorations and have them ready to go.

  While I was thinking about Christmas, I put in a call to Sawyer Jefferson, who owned a tree farm on the other side of the island. Auntie used artificial trees, but she bought fresh swags and wreaths. I ordered one hundred feet of evergreen swags and three huge wreaths. While I was thinking about the holidays, I called the butcher and ordered a standing rib roast for Christmas, along with a large goose.

  As I hung up, the doorbell rang, and I followed a barking Pete to the door. Bran Stanton was leaning against the doorjamb.

  “Hey, come in!” I hadn’t seen Bran in over a month, though we expected to see both him and his sister Daphne for Thanksgiving. Bran and I’d been an item earlier in the year, until I met Killian. We’d kept our relationship light, though, and had remained friends with no animosity or ill will.

  He kissed me on the cheek and sauntered into the room, lanky as usual, with his long ponytail neatly held back by a coated rubber band. Pete barked loudly and sniffed at his pocket. Bran had been in the habit of bringing over dog treats when we were going out, and apparently he hadn’t forgotten his furry friends, because he pulled out three Milk Bones and whistled. Beauty and Beast raced in, and he handed out treats to three very happy campers.

  “What’s up?” I said. “Do you want some tea or coffee? Something to eat?”

  “I’d love some juice, if you have it, and something sweet. I’m giving up coffee for awhile.” He followed me into the kitchen as I poured the juice and fixed a plate of assorted cookies.

  “Giving up coffee? Did hell freeze over?” I grinned at him and motioned for him to carry the tray into the living room. We settled on the sofa, on either side of a snoring Buttercup. Bran petted her for a moment, eying me as I winced and reached for my shoulder, which chose that moment to twinge with a vengeance.

  “Are you okay? You look like you’re in pain.”

  I cleared my throat. “Uh . . . yeah, kind of. Actually, I got winged by a bullet and fell over one of the chairs on the porch. Tore a few ligaments, nasty bruise, bad abrasion. The usual,” I said, grinning.

  “Bullet?” His face was deadpan, but I could tell he was bursting to ask what happened. “Who, might I ask, was on the other end of the gun?”

  “Elliot.” I filled him in on everything that had happened over the past few days. “Kyle and Amy are putting up posters about Lisa this afternoon, but he’s convinced she drowned.”

  Bran frowned and leaned back, closing his eyes. He was the town’s urban shaman, and more than once had come up with accurate information through whatever psychic channels he frequented. I fully believed in his powers, though I didn’t know how they worked. Auntie had been disappointed when Bran and I broke up, until she got to know Killian. Now she was happy they were both in my life, even though Bran was just a friend now.

  “I don’t think she’s dead, Persia. I just don’t get that sense, for what it’s worth.” He shrugged. “All I can see is silver . . . something about silver . . . that’s it. So your friend is missing and your ex tried to kill you? Sounds run of the mill for your life,” he said with a small grin. I smacked his arm with my good hand, and he caught it, bringing it to his lips. He kissed it lightly, then let go. “I can’t say that I don’t miss being with you, Persia. You’re delightful, you know, and I wish Killian didn’t object to sharing. But I’m glad you’re happy. Victoria and I set our relationship aside for awhile.”

  I frowned. He and Victoria had been having an on-again, off-again affair for years. I’d known about her from the beginning, but Bran had focused on me while we were together. That they would set aside their relationship when there was nobody else in the picture seemed odd.

  “What happened? Did she meet somebody else? Did you?” I folded my legs in the lotus position, wincing. Between my exercise ball breaking and Elliot’s little adventure, I was stiff as a board. I’d need to stretch out before bed if I didn’t want to get any worse.

  “No, that’s why I came to talk to you. I won’t be here for Thanksgiving. Daphne will, though. And it also explains why I’m giving up coffee.”

  Curious now, I leaned forward. “What are you up to, Bran Stanton?”

  He burst out into a hearty laugh. “Believe it or not, I’ve been chosen as a contestant for Castaway: Amazon Adventure. I fly out tomorrow to the Amazon to try to win a million bucks!”

  Speechless, I could only stare. Part of me envied him, part of me wanted to smack him for not confiding in me sooner. I was about to say something when the phone rang.

  “Persia,” Kyle’s voice came crackling over the line. “I’ve got some bad news.”

  “Is Auntie okay? Did you find Lisa?” My words tumbled out one over another as I froze, scared to hear his answer.

  “No, no . . . Miss Florence is fine as far as I know, and we haven’t heard a word about Lisa. No, this has to do with Elliot.” He sounded like he was dragging each word out with a pair of pliers.

  “Just tell me. What the hell happened? Did they lower his bail? Did he manage to make bail?” I held my breath, waiting.

  Kyle cleared his throat. “Uh . . . no, and no. The thing is . . . well . . . see . . . Persia . . . Oh hell, I’ll just come out and say it. Elliot managed to escape when we were transferring him back to the jail from the courthouse. He’s on the loose, along with a couple of other prisoners, and we have no idea as to where any of them are.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I dropped the phone with a little cry. Bran leaned forward, concerned, as I scrambled for the receiver.

  “Persia? Are you okay?” he asked.

  I shook my head, holding up one finger. “Kyle? You still there? Sorry, I dropped the phone. Please tell me this is a bad joke,” I said, even though I knew he’d never joke about something as serious as this. Kyle wasn’t a prankster, and he wasn’t a sadist, either.

  “I’m sorry, Persia. I don’t know how this happened. Officers Dryer and Reed were taking three men, including Elliot, out to their prowl cars. One of the men pretended to trip. When Dryer reached down to pull him to his feet, he managed to get hold of her gun and took her hostage. The men forced Reed to unlock their cuffs, then cuffed both Dryer and Reed to the outside of the car and gagged them. Then they all took off.” Kyle sounded like he was strangling.

  I stared at Bran, just shaking my head. “How on earth . . . how did he get hold of her gun? Why didn’t you have more than just two officers there, since there were three prisoners?”

  “Remember, I told you about the budget cuts? We’re overextended, and we just don’t have enough manpower.” Kyle was terser than I’d heard him in a long time. I had the feeling he was embarrassed as well as worried.

  “Well, did those men take your officers’ guns?”

  Another sigh. “Yeah. Elliot could be armed. Persia, be careful. Do you want somebody out there keeping watch? I’ll assign someone, the budget be damned.”

  “No, you just keep everybody looking for them. I’ll make sure my doors are locked and get Trevor out here with his dog to patrol the acreage. Auntie’s going to be pissed royal over this one, so you’d better expect a row.”

  Kyle let out a garbled yelp. “I hadn’t thought about that. You’re right. I’m about to feed the TV station a bulletin to run as breaking news. Maybe somebody will spot Elliot and call in.” />
  “Good idea. Who else escaped? Were they all dangerous?”

  “Yeah,” he said, breathing softly into the phone. “One of them, at least. One’s a burglar, so I doubt if he’s much of a threat to the public. The other though . . . he’s a serial rapist. We’ve got to catch him before he leaves the island.”

  “Christ, Kyle. That’s bad,” I said, staring at Bran. With a sigh, I said, “I guess this means you won’t have a chance to find out anything about Candy or Yvonne?”

  “Already checked our files. No local records for either one, but I can’t guarantee that means anything outside of Gull Harbor. And I sure don’t have time to focus on that now, with this mess that’s come up. Stay safe, Persia. I’ll talk to you in a little while.” He hung up, and I stared at the phone as the dial tone buzzed in my ear.

  “Great. Just great.” I was one degree below boiling.

  Bran tapped me on the knee. “What happened?”

  I looked at him, thinking that if I told him Elliot was on the loose, he might volunteer to stay and stand watch. But that would put a crimp in his plans, and how many chances would one be given to be on a TV reality show? I bit my lip, wavering. Finally, I just shook my head.

  “Nothing I can’t take care of.”

  “There was talk of guns?” Bran prodded.

  “Yes, but nothing to get worked up over. I’m just still tense from the past few days. Nothing to worry over. Hold on a minute,” I said, unfolding myself from the sofa and hurrying to the door. I peeked outside, but there was nobody in sight, so I hurried down to my car and made sure all my doors were locked. Trevor was riding by in one of the little carts Auntie had bought for him and our part-time gardener, Sarah, to make their jobs a little easier.

  “Trev!” I waved him over. He started to ask how I was, but I brushed away his question. “This is important—listen to me. Elliot escaped. He probably has a gun, and nobody knows where he is. The cops are looking for him, but until they find him, will you keep an eye out? If you see him, don’t engage him or put yourself in any danger, just call Kyle immediately. Understand? And then call me on my cell phone or the house phone.”

  “Oh shit, that’s not good.” Trev was earnest, if he was anything.

  I gave him a soft smile. “No, Trev, it’s not good. I only hope that things get better before they get worse. I’m going to make sure all the house doors are locked. You take your keys with you, and lock all sheds when you go in or out. Tell Sarah to do the same. We don’t want him hiding in one of our outbuildings.”

  “Will do, and I’ll bring Kali with me tomorrow.” Kali was a huge hunk of dog flesh who was a lovely girl but trained as a guard dog. “I’ll give the outbuildings a thorough check and lockdown before doing anything else this afternoon. And Persia, I’ll carry my baseball bat with me.” Trevor kept a baseball bat in his truck for trouble.

  “Good deal,” I said, though the thought ran through my head that a bat wasn’t much good going up against a gun. I headed back to the house, locking the front and side doors. Then, hurrying into the kitchen, I bolted the back door and the sliding glass doors out to the deck. While it was unlikely that Elliot could manage to climb up onto the deck that overlooked part of the backyard, better safe than sorry.

  After I finished, I called Auntie at work and told her what had happened. She was, as I had expected, outraged.

  “I can’t believe they screwed up like that! If it’s all because of a lack of funding, I’ll light this town on fire so fast that the city council won’t see me coming. Maybe it’s time I ran for office. Nothing gets done around here until somebody gets hurt, and only then do they decide to make changes. It was that way when we were trying to raise money for a local hospital ten years ago, and it’s still that way. I’m going to contact Winthrop and ask him what it would take for me to run in the next election.”

  I grinned. Auntie on the city council. Now, there was a thought, and she could probably do it, too. She had more spark than a live wire, and whatever she wanted, she usually got. I’d gotten my sense of drive and ambition from her, and if I was half as active as she was by the time I was her age, I’d count myself lucky. I glanced back in the living room. Bran was reading a magazine.

  “Bran came over to visit. I’m going to go talk to him for awhile because he’s leaving and won’t be back for several months. I’ll tell you about it tonight.”

  “Imp, you make sure the doors are locked tight,” she said.

  “Already done.”

  “Listen to me, girl. Go into my den. In the hutch next to the Renoir print, you’ll find a china teacup with a key in it. That key opens the lower left drawer in the credenza. There’s a pistol in there, and ammunition. I want you to go load it and keep it with you.”

  I gulped. Auntie had a gun? That was a new one to me. “I just hope to hell I don’t have to use it.”

  “We can only hope. But if Elliot breaks in, you don’t want him killing you before you can put up a fight. Carry it with you around the house.” She sounded so confident that I almost gave in, but then my common sense came crashing back.

  “Auntie, I don’t want to wear a gun around the house. Any number of accidents could happen, and none of them are pleasant to think about.”

  “Persia, sometimes life isn’t fair, and it’s not always fun. Deal with it.”

  Finally, to quiet her down I agreed to at least find the gun and put it somewhere easy to reach. I quietly hung up and peeked around the corner into the living room. “Be right back, Bran.”

  He waved, engrossed in some article. I hurried into the den, and sure enough, there was the key she’d been talking about. I unlocked the lower left drawer in the old walnut credenza and there found a lady’s pistol, delicate, with a pearl handle. I examined it, then shook my head. I didn’t want the responsibility. I loved my martial arts lessons and could bring down a grown man if I had the advantage. I could use my body as a weapon, but I wouldn’t carry a gun.

  I put the gun back in the drawer and locked it, replacing the key in the cup. “Not this time, Auntie,” I whispered to myself and rejoined Bran in the living room. He was finishing up my last column in Pout, and now he set the magazine down, grinning sheepishly.

  “I like your work, Persia. You do a good job, and you know what you’re doing. You don’t give stupid advice, and your column doesn’t come off pedantic or boring. So, what were you doing while I was reading? And don’t lie—I know something’s up. I’m not budging till you give me the lowdown.”

  I gazed at Bran, wondering just how much to tell him. Finally I said, “Do you promise to leave here when you need to, to go home and get ready for your flight, and to head out without another thought?”

  He held up two fingers. “Scouts’ honor.”

  So I told him about Elliot’s escape and my worry that Elliot was going to try to come back to kill me. Bran listened to everything quietly, as he always did, without jumping in with a testosterone-driven frenzy to right all wrongs.

  “So he could be anywhere on the island?” Bran asked.

  I nodded and turned on the television to the Northwest Cable News, a twenty-four-hour news show that covered the news of the Pacific Northwest states—Washington, Idaho, and Oregon. Sure enough, the PR person for Gull Harbor’s police department was talking with a reporter.

  “Elliot Parker, Thomas Wynn, and Lonnie Carver managed to overpower their guards and escape while being transferred from the courthouse to the police station today. Consider these men armed and dangerous. Wynn is suspected of raping four women, Parker was under arrest for assault and attempted murder, and Carver just pleaded guilty to three counts of burglary. If you see any of these men, call 911, but do not try to apprehend them or get in their way . . .”

  The report went on as they plastered a picture of Elliot and his buddies up on the screen. Elliot’s mug shot was replete with broken nose, black eye, and bruises covering his face. They must have decided that the bandages obscured the view, because they posted ano
ther picture of him—this one a better shot. I grimaced as I stared at his face. What had I ever seen in him? How had I missed the weasel within that seemed to be his second skin?

  Feeling a poor judge of human nature, I muted the sound and glumly picked up Buttercup, depositing her in my lap. She struggled, barely awake and surprised to be a sudden object of affection, but I held her fast and rubbed her down. She finally rewarded me with a purr, and I glanced up at Bran, who was staring at me with a quizzical look.

  “Where’s your boyfriend? You should call him, or he’s going to freak once he hears that report.”

  Oh hell, I hadn’t thought of that! I picked up the phone. “Thanks, Mr. Feel Good. Just what I needed to add to my worries—make the boyfriend feel bad. Yes, this is a such a good thing. Maybe we should invite Martha over to make us a macaroni salad and a centerpiece made out of Froot Loops and old banana peels.” I punched in Killian’s number and waited patiently. His voice mail came on, and I left a message to the effect of, “I’m still alive, don’t worry, I’ll see you soon.”