“The real question here, Faith, is why you are so interested in what Steve’s doing that you’d call me. You are no longer with my son, isn’t that correct?” A hardness entered Malcolm’s voice.
I nodded.
“You’re also engaged to another man?”
“Yes.” The conversational tone shifted. I was now getting a lecture.
“Then whatever career choices Steve makes is none of your concern. You didn’t want to be a part of his life, so there would’ve been no reason for him, or anyone else, to fill you in on it. I was under the impression there was no animosity between the two of you.”
“There isn’t. We just had some personal differences that couldn’t be worked out.”
Malcom let out a small laugh, a half-smile forming. “Differences wasn’t the issue, Faith, the similarity was. More to the point, Adam.”
My face flushed. “It’s complicated.”
“The matters of the heart usually are, my dear.” Malcolm opened the leather case holding his receipt, took it out, and pocketed it. “Unfortunately, my son seems to believe love is a simple matter. You love someone, treat them well, look out for them, and they’ll return that emotion. Instead, the heart likes to go where it wants even when it’s not the wisest, and sometimes even when it’s the worst decision.”
“I’m not making an unwise decision,” I said. Malcolm didn’t know me. He had no right to judge my relationship with Ted. “Steve and I wouldn’t have worked out.”
“Your life is yours to do with what you want. It’s no concern of mine, unless you try to ruin my son’s life. Whatever Steve is doing, is none of your business.” With that, Malcolm stood and shrugged on his trench coat then walked purposefully toward the door.
I slid my leftovers into the box and closed it. No way was I leaving my teriyaki wings behind. They were delicious. I snagged my purse and the box and headed out the door, shooting a smile at our waitress. I didn’t want her to think we were hightailing out of there because we hated the service in case Malcolm wasn’t a good tipper. I wished I had left some money on the table but I didn’t have time to go back.
Large snowflakes landed on my cheek when I stepped outside. Why couldn’t it have waited a few more minutes? I placed my leftovers onto the floor of the passenger side then checked for any phone messages. Nothing. The snow fell in larger clumps. At least it wasn’t sticking. Yet.
Slowly, I merged into traffic, keeping a safe distance behind the car in front of me. The road was getting slick. I glanced behind me. I guess Bob decided not to follow me back to Eden. What had he learned that caused him to come to Eden on a day the weather was rotten? A school bus on a side road pulled out in front of me. Great. Now it’d take me longer to get home. This area of Maryland was similar to West Virginia, and there were bus stops were every ten feet, or so it seemed.
Drive. Stop. Drive. Stop. The snow became heavier. I flipped on my windshield wipers. The sound of an engine came from behind me, then a squeal. I glanced into the rearview mirror. A car was skidding and fishtailing.
I clamped onto the steering wheel, leaned forward and pressed the accelerator. My car shot forward, thumping over something in the road. The light flipped to red as I sailed through. My heart raced, and I held my breath for a moment, waiting for the sirens. None. Slowly, I released my breath. I hope I didn’t have to take any more chances like that. My nerves couldn’t take it.
Thunk. Thunk. What was that? My car pulled to the left. Wonderful, a flat tire. In the snow. I slowed down, continuing forward until I came to a spot where there was a large enough shoulder for me to pull off and have plenty of room on the driver’s side of the car to change the tire without my butt sticking out into the road. I liked my body parts the way, and where, they were. The passenger side of the car was almost against the metal railings. I set the parking brake.
Could this get any worse? On second thought, I withdrew the question from the universe. I didn’t want to chance the answer would be “why yes, it can be.” I shoved open the door and slid out, tugging on my winter coat. Why couldn’t Bob have chosen to follow me now? I knew how to change a tire, I just didn’t like to. Especially in the snow. My hands were turning to ice, and it was then I remembered I hadn’t replaced the gloves I lost in January. I hated being cold. I hated snow. I was starting to hate this day.
I could text Bob and ask for help, but I wanted to prove to him I was capable of taking care of myself. If I couldn’t then Bob would only let me do computer research tasks for his PI firm. Sometimes one had to suffer a bit for their greater good. Accept help, yes. Ask for it, nope.
I aimed the automatic door opener at the trunk. The blip sounded, and the trunk popped open. I lifted the carpet in the trunk, loosened the wingnut keeping the spare secured down, and removed the tire and the compression jack. Snagging the small bag containing the wrench, I lugged all three items toward the flat. One of the benefits of my I-will-be-single-forever-and-not-rely-on-anyone phase was I learned do a lot of basic house and car maintenance. I practiced changing a tire because I didn’t want to be at the mercy of needing to wait for someone else to do it for me. My only stumbling block was parallel parking, I still couldn’t figure that one out, but fortunately it wasn’t a task that was a necessity. If needed, I’d drive down the block to find a space to pull into and walk.
Hunching over, and being mindful of my backside facing the road, I started changing the tire. I had to stop every few minutes to rub my hands together and warm them up. It was quite a chore in the cold and with cars whizzing close behind you. Already, a car had sped past me only to zip through incoming traffic to stop at a car wash. Every time I heard an engine, I cringed, and my muscles tightened as I prepared for impact. I should’ve driven the extra few yards and turned also. I was far enough off the road not to create a hazard, or become one, but one never knew if a driver had their full attention on the road.
The road was getting slicker, and it upped the chances of someone sliding into me. I had to hurry. Done. I heaved the flat tire into the open trunk. I leaned over to pick up the jack.
Horns blared. I looked up.
In the opposite lane, a teen stuck his head out a car window pointing behind me. “Run lady!”
I glanced behind me. A car was sliding toward me. I feigned to the left to avoid the car and it changed direction. Aimed right at me. The car hadn’t been sliding on the slick road, it was a deliberate act. I scrambled onto the trunk of my car, looking for an escape path.
The driver was griping the steering wheel, a baseball cap pulled down to shield his face. He wanted to hit me.
On one side of my car was the road, the other side was a guard rail and behind that was a sharp drop-off and a steel grate for a drainage ditch. If the car struck mine, I’d fly off the trunk, but if I stood on the side of my car, I’d be crushed between my car and the guard rail. I jumped, launching myself past the railing figuring I’d fare better if I controlled my plummet.
More horns. There was a sound of metal scraping against metal.
I landed on my feet. They shot out from other me, and I thudded to the ground. The impact jostled my bones. I grimaced and gingerly rose. My backside was wet. How was I going to explain my wet jeans to my grandmothers?
“Faith!” Bob’s panicked voice reached me.
“I’m okay.” I hoisted one leg over the railing.
Bob wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me over, embracing me. “You scared the wits out of me. I should’ve followed you out of the restaurant instead of making some calls first.”
“Did you find out anything about Lucas or Ollie?” I inspected my car. There was a long scratch on the driver side.
Bob shook his head. “Only you, Faith, would react to my statement about making calls instead of the fact someone tried to run you over.”
So Bob also knew it was deliberate. “The road is slick.” I still tried
to consider the non-threatening version of what happened. “Since I’m fine and my car is fine, I should head off. This isn’t a good place to stay.”
“That wasn’t an accident. We should call the police.”
“There’s nothing they can do now,” I said.
A horn blared from across the street. A young guy held up his cell. “I got a picture of the car and a partial plate of that jerk.”
Bob jogged across the street and talked with the guy. My cell rang. Please don’t let it be Ted. He read my tone better than anyone. He’d know something was up. It wasn’t Ted. Wyatt. What now?
Sighing, I answered and slid into my car. “You have another guess on where the door is?”
“Even better.” Wyatt was happy. Thrilled.
I was worried. Brilliant ideas and the Buford brothers were usually total opposites. “Go on.”
“There’s some flooding in the basement and Davis can’t figure out where the water came from. Wayne told him it’s likely a water main break. The police might have hit a pipe while looking for more remains and evidence.”
Why was that happy news? I bit my lip, stopping the question from exiting my mouth. “I hope if that’s true, the police pay for it.”
“Wayne said we’ll take care of it,” Wyatt’s tone remained pleasant. He was overjoyed with the brilliant scheme he devised and wanted to share.
“What’s your idea?”
“It’s our way in. Wayne and I will concentrate on finding the leak, and you can look for the secret door. I’m sure it’s in the basement. We’ve renovated every other room.”
It wasn’t bad. It had potential. “How will I get in?”
“I’ll tell you when you get to the plumbing office.”
“Your office?”
“You can’t pull up to the Everton place in your car.”
Good point. “Okay, it’ll take me thirty minutes.”
“Gives me plenty of time to get our supplies together.” Wyatt hung up.
No sooner had the call ended then my phone rang again. Bob. “I say we head back to Eden. I’d rather not stay here and wait for the police,” I said.
“I think we should call them.”
“What can they do now that can’t wait until I get home? It’s not going to make too much of a difference if we wait an hour or so.”
“What’s going on, Faith?”
“Wyatt called. He can get us into the Everton mansion.”
“Us, as in?”
“Him, his brother, and me. There was a water main break at the Everton house. The Bufords are the only ones in town who can handle an emergency like that. If the town waits for someone else, the basement will be flooded.”
“Convenient,” Bob said.
Yes, it was. What had Wayne and Wyatt done?
“I won’t call Ted on one condition,” Bob said. “I’m now part of the ‘us.’”
Eighteen
“Are you kidding me?” I gaped at Wyatt, ignoring the grin on Bob’s face. The air in the back of the plumbing van was stale and smelled like cement and plastic. Wyatt, Bob, and I were crammed in the back among pipes, a wet-dry vacuum, and other plumbing paraphernalia. We were parked in the back of the Everton mansion, and Wyatt had just explained his terrible plan.
At least terrible for me. Bob was amused by it.
Wyatt patted the drop cloth unrolled on the floor of his van. “This is the only way to get you in. You can stay out in the van if you want, but I thought you wanted to help find the secret door.”
“I do. Why does the plan include me getting wrapped up in a drop cloth?” I nudged it with the toe of my sneaker. Enclosed places weren’t my thing. “I won’t be able to breathe.”
“Sure, you will.” Wyatt waved his pocket knife near my face. “I told you I was going to make air holes in it.”
I swatted it away. “While I’m all wrapped up. What would your mother say?”
“We shouldn’t be going in there at all. You want me to listen to that?” Wyatt scratched his head, with the hand not holding the knife.
“You’ll be fine,” Bob said, his expression saying my discomfort had him enjoying the situation more.
He had changed from his collar shirt and slacks into a t-shirt and jeans, mimicking the outfit the Buford’s crew usually wore. He looked cute. I was torn between kicking him in the shins and snapping a pic to send his husband Garrison. I was sure Garrison didn’t see this side of his spouse very often. Bob was almost as buttoned-up and serious as Ted.
“I’ll cut big air holes. I’ll make sure you’re face down so no one will see you. Put your hands by your face when I wrap you up and you can peel back the cloth. There’s no other way to get you inside. The windows in the basement are too small for you to fit through.”
“You snuck down there already?” Why hadn’t he called me then?
“No, I noticed it when I dropped a hose down it last night.”
“That explains the convenient timing. Let’s get a move on before Davis gets suspicious,” Bob secured a tool belt around his waist. “It shouldn’t take us this long to get ready.”
“Steve’s here?” I went against my better judgment and laid on the drop cloth. If I wanted in the house, this was my only way in.
“To protect his client’s interests,” Bob said.
“How do you know?” I narrowed my gaze on Bob. “You better not have told Ted.”
“If Ted knew you were sneaking into the house,” Bob said, “he’d be here to stop you and shoot me for agreeing to this plan. I told him I heard there was a probable vandalism at the Everton place. Ted said it was a water line break and if it was criminal nature instead, Davis would let the police know. He was going to monitor the repairs the Bufords were doing.”
“Steve met you once. Remember?”
“I doubt he remembers me, and he’s not looking for me to be here.”
“Me neither,” I said.
Bob rolled his eyes. “But you’re very familiar to him. I doubt he wouldn’t be able to place you.”
I was out of arguments. “Fine. Roll me up.” I placed my hands beside my ears, flexing my fingers into a positon to quickly peel away the layers. As Wyatt brought the drop cloth over me, I closed my eyes, steadying my breath before I hyperventilated. My heart pounded. This was a bad idea.
As every additional layer of cloth neared my face, Wyatt held up for a moment to slit a large opening in it. He tucked the end under me, hoisted me up by my shoulders, and wrapped again. A few minutes into the process, and I was sweating and having difficulty breathing.
“Help me slide her out,” Wyatt said.
Or at least that was what I believed he said and that Wyatt said it. My hearing was a little muffled. I felt myself being lifted, then laying upside down over a shoulder. My head was hanging down, the position made it harder to breath. I wriggled. A hand slapped my butt.
Drop cloths didn’t move. The feeling of being trapped intensified. My heart slammed against my ribcage. Stay calm. Think happy thoughts. Create a layout in your head. Decide between the red velvet with cream cheese frosting or the chocolate and raspberry icing for your wedding cake. It wasn’t working. The panic was growing. The more I told myself to stop thinking about being trapped, the more I focused on my predicament.
More voices entered my head. Wyatt was chatting with someone. Stop. Get me to the basement and free me. I wanted to wriggle around, remind him of my presence, but if he was talking to Steve—or worse Mitchell—I’d get out of one imprisonment and into another.
“Won’t take long.”
I was freefalling, thunking on the floor onto my side, water seeping through the cloth and soaking the left side of my shirt and jeans. I bit my lip to stop from screaming. I was almost home free, no sense giving myself away now.
I laid there. Why wasn’t Wyatt unwrapping me
? My breath hitched in my throat. I was getting hot. Sweaty. I opened my mouth wider, drawing in more air, and some fiber. Waves of panic rolled through me. I heard my breathing in my head, my blood pounding. I was going to lose it soon.
There were three voices. One person too many. My muscles urged to move, my hands wanting to tear the cloth from my face. Just a little while longer, I pep-talked myself. Keep it together for one more minute. Nausea rose me in. It was going to get ugly real soon. There was no way I could hide much longer.
I hooked my fingers around the fabric, drawing it a smidge apart. Feet came toward me, slapping through the quarter inch of water on the concrete basement floor. I saw knees as the person crouched. The cloth was torn away.
“Sorry,” Wyatt said.
I gulped in air.
“You okay?” Wyatt handed me a cold bottle of water. “You don’t look good.”
“What took you so long?” My voice sounded whiny to my ears.
“I had to get rid of Davis first. Wayne told him he thought the break originated at the spot where the police were looking for evidence. The police expanded the area themselves and must’ve accidentally hit a pipe since they weren’t working from any maps. The pipes are so old they crumble easily and even a slight tap would’ve damaged one. The Everton mansion was the first house in Eden to have indoor plumbing.”
“The Evertons were trendsetters.”
Wyatt helped me up. “Let’s get started.”
“How am I getting out of here?” I pointed at the now soaked drop cloth. You’re not going to sneak me out that way.” And I didn’t want to, even if it was dry. I’d hide out in the house until night and sneak out.
“Wayne’s going to distract Davis and anyone else around you, and you can sneak out the back or front door, depending on the plan Wayne comes up with.”
Altered to Death Page 17
