Glossed and Found

by Ink, India

  As I returned to the living room, Annabel was in the process of giving Kyle permission to search Lloyd’s office. We all trooped in, though I held back for a moment.

  “Annabel, I called my aunt. I thought you might like some company . . . someone who . . .” I left off, feeling uncertain. How do you tell someone you’re afraid they might keel over with a heart attack so you’re calling in the cavalry? But she saw through me, and even though her eyes were filled with betrayal, her gratitude was evident.

  “I’m a tough old bird, my dear. Tougher than a lot of people think. But you’re a sweetheart for thinking of my health, and I’ll welcome Miss Florence’s company. She’s a good woman, and I see she raised you to be just like her. Now come, let’s see what Chief Laughlin finds in my two-timing husband’s desk.”

  Kyle was sifting through Lloyd’s desk. One drawer—the bottom left—was locked. “Do you by chance have a key to this drawer, Mrs. Mason?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Lloyd has it. I give you my permission to break it open.”

  Kyle stared at the desk, which was obviously an antique. “Are you sure you want me to do that? I could ruin the wood—”

  “My dear Chief Laughlin, I said you have my permission. Since I bought that desk for Lloyd as a wedding present, it’s up to me whether or not you may bust it to smithereens. Please, be my guest.” Her voice hardened, and I thought, She’s enjoying this. “I’ll get you a crowbar if you like.”

  “No, no—I don’t think that will be necessary,” Kyle said. He braced himself and yanked on the drawer. The second time, it came shooting off on the runners as the wood splintered and the lock broke. Kyle fell backwards, the drawer and its contents landing on the floor in front of him.

  “Shit, that was close,” he muttered, staring at his crotch. I stifled a snort.

  “Should have used the crowbar,” Annabel said, raising her eyebrows. I quickly stepped over to Kyle and offered him my hand, but he waved me off.

  “Hello, what’s this?” he said, lifting a wallet out of the drawer. The plastic ID window held a driver’s license. The face staring out at us was Lisa’s.

  “Lisa!” Amy gasped. “He knows where she is!”

  “So it isn’t just Candy,” Kyle said. He looked up at Annabel. “You said he might be out at your beach house?”

  She nodded, pale. “Yes. Oh my God, if he hurt that girl, I’ll never forgive myself.” She started to shiver, and I led her to a chair.

  “What’s your doctor’s name? Let me call him,” I said. The doorbell rang, and I motioned for Kyle to go answer. He came back, leading Auntie. By the time they entered the office, I could tell she’d been given a bullet list of what we’d found out.

  “Auntie, call Annabel’s doctor. This is quite a shock for her,” I said as I stood up. “We’d better get out to that beach house. Annabel, can you give us the address?”

  Looking grim and shaken, she whispered, “48023 Terrace Lane Drive. It’s on the other side of the island, about a twenty-minute drive from here. On the waterfront near Silver Sky Cove.”

  Silver Sky Cove? Something rang a bell, and then I remembered Bran’s words. “All I can see is silver . . . something about silver,” he’d said. “That’s it! Lisa’s there. I know it,” I said and motioned for Amy and Kyle to follow me to the door. I turned back to Auntie. “I’ve got my cell. I’ll call you as soon as we know anything.”

  Auntie blinked, and I could see her eyes glistening. “Be careful, Imp. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  I paused to run back and grab her around the waist, hugging her tightly. “Oh Auntie, I’ll be careful. Kyle will be there, so don’t worry. Please, just take care of Annabel. She needs support right now.”

  “Go on, Persia. Go and bring that girl back.” Auntie turned back to Annabel, and I heard her ask something about doctors. As we left the house, I hoped that the strain wouldn’t do Annabel in. She didn’t deserve any of this.

  Amy and I dashed to my car while Kyle hopped in his cruiser. “Let’s go find Lisa and bring her home,” I said. I only hoped we wouldn’t be bringing her home in a body bag.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Neither Amy nor I spoke much on the drive. The road passed under our wheels, a ribbon of concrete and ice. I concentrated on my driving; the windshield wipers were working at top speed. Ahead of us, Kyle was speeding silently, and I thought how grim police cruisers looked when they were on a mission. It was almost as if you could tell they were racing the clock—the car moving quickly, no sirens, no lights flashing, but only a fierce determination to get to their destination in time to prevent tragedy.

  Several roads led to the other side of the island, but we were taking the most direct one, Route 79. Once an old logging road that cut directly through the center of the island, it had been turned into a smooth, two-lane highway twenty years back, shortly after Auntie bought Moss Rose Cottage. Lined on both sides with wooded ravines and rural suburbs, Route 79 was most frequently used by visitors coming in off the bridge that led to the peninsula, the only way off Port Samanish Island other than the ferry. If Elliot had been smart, he would have sped along this route as soon as he escaped and escaped over the bridge before they put up roadblocks. Lucky for me, he hadn’t been that bright.

  The snow was sticking—at least six inches on the ground. The storm must be a gift from La Niña, which made winters in the Pacific Northwest a lot wetter and colder. The road was patchy with compact slush and ice, and up ahead, Kyle swerved into the other lane, then back into ours. A branch, big enough to raise havoc to a sedan like mine, lay in the road. I steered to the left, then back into our lane.

  Beside me, Amy sat silent, clenching and unclenching her hands. After another moment she said, “Do you think she’s alive? I want you to be honest. I don’t want to get my hopes up and then have them crash to the ground.”

  I blinked, not certain what to say. “I don’t know,” I finally answered. “In my heart, I think she has to be. But my head . . . I just don’t know, Amy. My intuition tells me Lloyd isn’t a killer. As far as Candy . . . she’s so young. And yet, earlier this year I helped catch two killers who were young women barely into their early twenties. You can never really tell what goes on in somebody’s heart. I don’t know if you can ever really know someone—not down to their core.”

  “Then how do you do it? How do you make friends, get married, have kids, if you can’t trust?” There was a catch in her voice, and I knew she was struggling. Her sister might be dead, and if so, how could she face the people who murdered her?

  “Those are questions I ask myself every day,” I said. “And yet . . . you just go on. You love, you hope, you trust as much as you can trust. I suppose it comes down to having faith. Faith that perhaps luck will be good to you, faith in the knowledge that there are good people in this world, that not everybody is out to get you. I don’t think I’m the right person to ask about this, Amy. I’m still learning these lessons myself.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her bite her lip. She stared out the side window for awhile, then asked, “Do you love Killian?”

  The question took me by surprise. It wasn’t what I expected. I thought for a moment. “I don’t know, to be honest. I love being around him. I love the time I spend with him. I enjoy his company and have no real desire to date anybody else. But love . . . that’s such an intangible feeling. I suppose I do, in a way, and I think that feeling might grow, given time. I’m skittish about commitment, Amy. I’m not wired for the picket fence and the two-point-five kids.”

  She seemed to be mulling over my answer for a moment, before saying, “What about Kyle? Do you like him?”

  Suddenly, I knew where this was going. I flashed her a quick smile. “Kyle is a good man, Amy. He’s courteous, intelligent, and I’m glad he’s my friend. I like to think that he feels the same.”

  Another mile passed as she settled back in her seat, looking a little less tense. Ahead of us, Kyle turned to the right onto Ter
race Lane Drive. I flipped on my blinkers and followed suit. To the left, through a thin band of fir and maple, we could see the shoreline. I was thinking that we had to be nearing the beach house when Kyle suddenly made a swing across the road into a driveway that sloped down past the thicket of trees. I saw the number 48023 on the mailbox and turned left, skidding slightly on a patch of ice.

  Edging forward cautiously, I followed Kyle down the drive and into an open space in front of a lovely little beach house. The parking area was flat, bordering the lawn in front of the cottage. There were two cars in sight: one a Lexus that I didn’t recognize, the other a red two-seater BMW. Candy’s BMW. I coasted to a stop behind Kyle, and Amy and I slowly stepped out of the car.

  The bungalow was one story, probably a two-bedroom, and looked like one of those charming English cottages with ivy growing up the sides of the stone walls and onto the roof. A terrace off of what was probably the dining room was enclosed by a short stone wall—only a foot or so high and flanked with what looked to be roses. All-weather patio furniture sat on the lanai, covered in snow. French doors led into the house, their curtains drawn. No signs of activity . . . I wondered if they knew we were here.

  As I gazed at the house, Amy gasped and pointed to one of the windows on the far right. “That window. Don’t you recognize it?”

  I looked at it carefully. A window box that had held flowers only a few months ago, a mullioned window covered with what looked like white lace drapery . . . It looked familiar, and I tried to place it. And then I snapped my fingers and turned to her.

  “The pictures,” I whispered. “The pictures Lisa took of Lloyd and Candy—ten to one they were taken through that window. Then, that should be a bedroom.”

  Kyle hurried over to us, and we told him about recognizing the window. He pulled out the pictures and looked at them, then at the house. “You’re right,” he said, frowning. “Okay, I’m going in, I want you two to stay here.” He headed for the door, gun at the ready.

  Amy’s gaze was glued on his back, but I had an odd feeling and turned around, slowing walking over to Candy’s car. I could still smell her perfume in the chill of the day. It lingered like a fine wine on the palate, and I closed my eyes, sensing the trail of scent that she’d left behind. It didn’t lead to the house, though, but toward a small path off to the right. Without a second thought, I began to follow the trail.

  The path led through a patch of Scotch broom that had grown to a towering height. Around here, Scotch broom grew with a vengeance, choking out the other plants and killing off endemic vegetation. This patch looked like it hadn’t been cleared all year. As I pushed through the foliage, I noticed that the snow along the path had been disturbed; here and there I could see individual footprints, but it looked like something had been dragged along the trail. Something . . . or someone.

  Oh hell. I began to run.

  I kept my arms in front of me to ward off the prickly broom overshadowing the path, blinking as snowflakes spiraled out of the sky to land on my eyelashes and face. As I neared the end of the trail—it couldn’t have been more than two hundred yards—my toe caught on a branch hidden under the snow, and I went flying face-first to the ground. A broken branch off of one of the broom plants scratched my cheek when I hit the snow.

  I picked myself up and crept forward, peering out of the thicket. There, on the shoreline, Candy and Lloyd stood, arguing by the look of things. On the ground next to them I could see Lisa. She was slumped forward, her eyes closed. Candy pointed to the inlet, and I could see that there were a couple of garden bricks—the kind with holes in them—tied to Lisa’s feet. My stomach lurched. Was she already dead?

  “We have to do this,” Candy was yelling.

  “I don’t know if I can,” Lloyd countered. “Baby doll, this is murder. We aren’t talking kidnapping here, but cold-blooded murder. I used to be a lawyer. How can you expect me to do this?” Lloyd’s voice rose in answer to Candy’s. He looked scared out of his mind, and I began to understand the dynamics of their affair. Candy was the mastermind. And a bully at that.

  “Can you think of a better way? We can’t let her go. There’s no way to let her go and be safe. We have no choice; we have to get rid of her. Now help me get her into the damned water. Jesus, you sound like an old man.” Candy reached down to pick up one of Lisa’s arms, and Lloyd reluctantly reached for the other.

  I lunged out from the path and raced toward them without a word. They heard me as I was almost upon them, and Lloyd spun around, his eyes wide, just in time to say hello to my boot as I nailed him with a kick to the stomach.

  “Persia!” Candy screamed, then whimpered as I moved toward her. She turned and started to run down the shoreline. Lloyd was doubled over, and I gave him a shove for good measure, which knocked him down, and took off after Candy. I was stronger, taller, and faster than she was and managed to tackle her with little problem, slamming her to the ground. I jerked her head back, holding fast to her hair.

  “You’d better pray that Lisa’s still alive, or I’ll make sure you regret every single day you have left to live,” I said.

  “She’s alive, she’s alive!” Candy let out a yelp as I twisted a handful of her hair in my hand and gave it another good yank.

  “You’d better hope she is,” I said. Jumping up, I dragged her to her feet. She resisted, and I lost my temper and backhanded her. “Try that again, and I’ll knock you silly, you little bitch.”

  She cowered then, losing what fight was in her, and I jerked her along behind me as I strode over to Lisa. It was apparent that neither Lloyd nor Candy was conversant in self-defense, nor were they carrying guns.

  Lloyd started to get up. I gave him a long look. “Move a muscle, lover boy, and you get it right in the balls,” I warned him. “Kyle Laughlin is on his way down here right now. You don’t want him thinking that you’re resisting arrest, now do you? I don’t have a gun, but he does, if you get my drift.”

  Pale, Lloyd shrank back to the ground, staring at the sand. I shoved Candy down next to him and knelt beside Lisa. At that moment, Kyle and Amy came racing out from the trail.

  Kyle didn’t say a word, just took out his handcuffs and motioned for Lloyd to stand. “Is Lisa alive?” he asked me, his voice gruff.

  I felt for Lisa’s pulse. There it was, thready and weak, but definitely strong enough to keep her going. “Yeah, she is. Phone for an ambulance though. I think she’s been drugged.”

  Kyle pulled out his phone and dialed, calling for backup and for an ambulance. He turned to Amy. “In the squad car, you’ll find extra handcuffs. Run up there and get me a pair, would you?”

  She glanced at Lisa, visibly torn. I motioned for her to take my place. “Lisa’s going to be okay, honey. Here, you stay with her, and I’ll go get them.” I jogged back to the driveway, where I poked around in the front seat of Kyle’s cruiser and found an extra pair of cuffs. By the time I returned to the beach, Kyle was reading Candy and Lloyd their rights.

  I told him about the conversation I’d overheard. “So they were going to kill her by pushing her into the water. Essentially, they were going to drown her.”

  Lisa murmured something and blinked, opening her eyes a crack. When she saw Amy’s face, the relief that flooded her face made me want to cry. She tried to talk, but Amy shushed her, kissing her gently on the forehead. Just then, we heard the sound of sirens. Help had arrived.

  Turning to Candy, I said, “What did you give her? We’re going to search the house, so we’ll find out anyway. Make it easier on yourself by cooperating. Tell us what shit it was that you used to drug her.”

  Candy frowned, then muttered, “Succinylcholine chloride. She’ll be okay, I didn’t give her enough to kill her. Though maybe I should have—it would have saved us a whole lot of trouble.”

  Lloyd stared at Candy, the light in his eyes going out. I had the feeling he was starting to realize just how much he had lost. “It was all her,” he told Kyle frantically. “I didn’t want to hurt
Lisa. It was all Candy’s idea.”

  Shouts erupted from the Scotch broom as three officers and a paramedic team came into sight. I gently drew Amy back so they’d have enough room to work on Lisa, and told them what she’d been drugged with.

  “Shit, that’s a strong muscle relaxant. It’s lucky she’s still breathing,” one of the medics said. The other one nodded. “Her blood pressure’s too low and her pulse is weak, but we should be able to pull her through without a problem.” They strapped her on a stretcher and put her on oxygen and then, with Amy following, started the journey back to the house.

  Kyle and I looked at each other, then at Candy and Lloyd. “Let’s go back to the station. You can call your lawyers, though I suggest you think really hard on the trip back. Since Lisa’s still alive, you can save yourself a lot of pain and heartache by cooperating.”