I pulled in Beth's driveway and stopped the truck. I couldn't see Nancy's house too well. A row of pine trees planted in the Turner's yard shielded their house from the street. Good cover for me. I climbed out of the truck and crept up to the corner of the lot, directly in front of Nancy's. Standing behind one of the pines, I had a pretty clear view of the car and Nancy's house.
The car was empty. I caught a glimpse of someone moving around toward the back of Nancy's house. Perfect opportunity for me to check out the car. I ran across the street.
The car was an old Thunderbird, big and bulky. I was almost positive it was the one that had hit me Wednesday night. I walked around to the front. A distinctive streak of red paint on the crumpled silver bumper confirmed my suspicions. So it was Nancy after all.
I dashed around the side of the house toward the back, determined to confront her and tell her she was going to have to pay for the damage to my Mustang. Her house was a small brick one story, about thirty years old. The driveway stretched into the back yard ending at an eight by ten foot storage building. The yard was shaggy and weed-filled. A sad looking window box with half-dead geraniums in it sat on the small back stoop.
I went up the three concrete steps and started to knock on the back door. I caught myself just before my hand hit the door. Nancy was big. And strong. A whole lot bigger and stronger than little old me. Confronting her around front, where people driving by would see us in case she decided to try and sit on me or something, seemed like a good idea. A very good idea.
I turned around and started back down the stairs. I'd just stepped on the crumbly concrete walkway when I heard the door open. I turned around and let out a loud shriek.
I was nose to nose with a particularly nasty looking gun. And whose slightly shaking hand was pointing it at me? Nancy Winslow's? Nope. Vanessa Young's.
29
Vanessa looked as if she’d been through the ringer — again. Her hair was greasy and spiky, as though she'd been running her hands through it. Her clothes were not only too big, they were also dirty and wrinkled. It appeared she hadn't slept since I'd seen her Wednesday night at the funeral home. She held the gun in her right hand and a shoe box, bulging with papers, in her left. She darted her eyes around wildly and licked her lips.
"What are you doing here?" she yelled. Her voice shook.
I was dumbfounded. It's not every day that somebody points a gun at me. Especially one as wicked looking as Vanessa’s.
She gestured with it. “Answer me! What are you doing here? Why are you following me?"
"I, I, I didn't know it was you. I just wanted to find out who hit my car." Sweat popped out on my forehead. "Here give me the gun. I won't even tell anybody it was you. I’ll pay for the damage myself.”
"Hit your car? What are you talking about? I didn't hit your car. You think this is about your car? God, Marty, you are so self-centered sometimes."
"No. Of course not. Why don't you give me the gun and tell me what it is all about." I reached my hand out.
She shrieked out at the top of her lungs. "Stop it! Don't you move. Not even an inch. I swear to God, Marty, I'll shoot you if I have to."
I lowered my hand. "Okay, okay. Calm down. I'm not doing anything. See. I'm just standing here." My Band Perry t-shirt was soaked clear through.
I didn't think she was going to shoot me. At least not on purpose. Still, I decided I'd better not take any chances. I willed myself to stay calm. It wasn't easy.
"I gotta think. I can't think like this." She let out a low moan.
"It's okay. I promise. I'll just forget all about this. Why don't you just put the gun down." I forced a smile.
Her hand wavered slightly. "I can't," she whispered, "I can't do that."
"Sure you can. Come on, Nessa, please. Just give me the gun. I can help you, whatever the problem is, I can help." I made my voice sound as sweet and loving as possible.
She jerked her hand back up, straight and steady. "No! You're just trying to confuse me. You just shut up." Her voice had taken on a new tone. Wild. Scary.
She glanced around the yard. Her eyes lit on the little storage shed. "Here. Come over here." She pushed me and gestured toward it with the gun.
"No. I don't want to. Please. Don't do this. It isn't worth it.”
She nudged me along, pushing me toward the small building. When we reached it, she told me to open the door and go inside. I choked back a sob and reached for the door. It wasn't locked. The building was haphazardly built, sheets of thin plywood nailed on a frame. The roof was made of green corrugated plastic. A spider's web hung in one corner of the door frame.
I jerked open the door, knocking the web loose. The inside of the shed was piled up with junk. Something scuttled across the dirt floor. Beady red eyes stared at me from the rear. Another spider's web hung just inside the door. A big, ugly looking spider sat right in the center of it. It was going to be a cold day in hell before she got me in there.
She tapped the gun gently against the back of my head. "I said go in."
"No. Don't make me go in there. I was locked in a shed earlier today and almost died. I don't think I can deal with this right now." The beady red eyes had multiplied; now there were three sets looking at me.
But maybe Vanessa already knew that. Maybe she was the one who had locked us in the shed up at the lake and tried to kill us. Maybe she was the one who had killed Warren and stuck him in the trash can. I hadn't heard a gunshot, but maybe she'd killed Nancy, too.
"Vanessa, where is Nancy? Did you shoot Nancy?" I tried to keep my voice steady.
"Nancy?" she sounded confused. "Why would I shoot Nancy? She's not even at home. She's down at her car lot. I know. I checked."
She rapped the gun against my head again, harder this time. "Get in there! I'll shoot you if you don't."
I looked at the spider and the beady red eyes. I thought about the gun. Like I've said before, my momma didn't raise no fool. I went in the building.
She banged the door shut behind me. Almost immediately, she opened it back up. "This isn't going to work," she said. She pointed the gun toward my heart and looked around the shed. “Give me your phone, then get that rope over there. There, behind you."
I looked around and saw a length of coarse yellow rope lying on top of a box. I picked it up and handed it to her. “I don’t have my phone. It’s out at the lake. At Zach’s folks house.”
She narrowed her eyes, evidently trying to decide if she believed me. “You’d better not be lying to me, Marty.”
“I’m not. I swear.”
She patted me down. “Okay, then, get down on your stomach and put your hands behind your back. Yes, like that."
She knelt, putting the shoe box on the floor beside her. She made a loop with the rope, forced it around my wrists, tying it in a tight knot. I thought about trying to make a sudden move so I could escape, but she still had the gun and the last thing I wanted to do was hear it go off.
The rope bit hard into my arms. The dirt floor was cool and it smelled musty and earthy. I sneezed. The little beady eyed critters scurried around. It sounded like there were a million of them. Vanessa laid the gun beside her. I couldn't get to it with my hands bound up. She grabbed my legs and jerked them up toward my hands.
I yelped. "Ow! Stop! That hurts. I'm not a gymnast, you know. Why are you doing this to me?"
She screamed at me. "Shut up! I said shut up and I mean shut up! I swear, I wish I had something to stuff in your mouth."
She wound the rope round and around my ankles, pulling it so tight that it cut my circulation off. I felt like a trussed chicken. I imagine I looked like one, too.
"Okay. I'm out of here," she said when she'd finished binding me up. "That ought to keep you for a while." She brushed the dirt off her hands and picked up the gun and the shoe box.
I tried one last time. "Please, Vanessa! Whatever the problem is, don't make it worse by doing this. I swear, I can help you."
She slammed the shoe box ow
n on some sort of cabinet. Several papers flew out of it. "That does it! I told you to shut up." She looked around and found a box of old clothes. She pulled out a threadbare silk scarf.
"No! Don't stick that in my mouth. Come on, Vanessa, you know how I am about germs. I don't even drink after people. Ple..."
I gagged and spit and flailed around, but she still pushed it between my lips and tied it around my head.
"Bye," she said.
She picked up her shoe box, stuffed the papers back in it, and left. The door slammed shut, leaving me all alone with the little beady-eyed monsters.
For the second time in one day I found myself locked in a hot, smelly, scary building, wondering if my next breath would be my last. I looked over to where the critters had been hanging out. I could hear them, but I couldn't see them. I hoped they weren't hungry.
At least the shed would be easier to get out of than the garage had been. I was pretty sure that it wasn't locked. Of course, I had to get out of the ropes first. I hoped Vanessa hadn't done very well at Scouts. As long as she didn't set the place on fire, maybe I'd make it.
My ankles, arms, and back were killing me. I fumbled around, trying to pick at the knots, but my hands were in the wrong position. I rocked from side to side, swinging a little farther each time. Finally, I rolled far enough and landed on my right side. No good. My arm was underneath me and it hurt like the dickens.
I rocked further and landed on my back. That hurt even worse. I lifted my butt up, sort of like one of those yoga poses Charli’s so good at, and it helped a lot. Until my legs started shaking, that is.
The rope burns really stung, I could hear the rats scampering around, and to be honest, I was about as mad as I've ever been. The scarf wouldn't come out of my mouth, either. I walked my feet closer to my hands, which added a whole new dimension to the exercise, but also proved to be fairly effective.
Luckily for me, Vanessa wasn't going to be getting any merit badges for knot-tying. I managed to get my ankles free pretty quickly. Once I did that, I was able to get to my feet. My knees were wobbly, and my ankles tingled, but I was in a heck of a lot better shape than Warren.
I stuck my head in the spider web, which gave me a few seconds of panic, but I calmed down when I realized that the spider wasn't on me. Good fortune smiled on me again when I leaned against the door and gave it a nudge with my shoulder. It swung open.
I had to get that scarf off. The thing was, I couldn't get my hands around to the front without dislocating my shoulders. A nail protruded from the door frame, giving me an idea. I scrunched down and hooked the thin cloth on it. I yanked my head back and heard a satisfying rip. A couple more pulls and the gag fell to the ground.
On my way out the door, I stepped on a couple of pieces of paper. Vanessa must have overlooked them when she'd picked up the ones that had fallen out of her shoe box. I squatted and picked them up. I tried to look over my shoulder and see what they were, but couldn't get my hands out far enough to read them. They'd have to wait for later.
I stuck them in the back pocket of my shorts, said adios to the rats, and high-tailed it across Nancy's yard. I kicked her back door. Nobody answered. I decided that she wouldn't mind, given the circumstances, if I broke into her house. Hopefully, she still had a land-line. Thank God the door was unlocked.
The inside of Nancy's house was filthy. Newspapers and magazines were piled up everywhere. The kitchen sink and all the counter space around it was piled high with food-encrusted dishes. It smelled about as pleasant as the dumpster I'd hidden behind at Pilazzo's. I looked around for a phone. Luckily, there was one, but it was an old avocado green wall mounted one. With my hands still tied tightly behind my back, I couldn't reach it.
I went in the living room to see if there was a regular table-top model. If possible, the living room was in even worse shape than the kitchen. More newspapers and magazines. Clothes strewn everywhere. And, worst of all, piles of cat poop all over the floor.
"Nancy?" I called out. "Are you in here?"
No answer. I didn't much want to, but I figured I'd better make sure she wasn't laying somewhere bleeding to death. Besides the kitchen and living room, the house only had two bedrooms and one bathroom. I took a quick look around, but all I found was more mess, three enormous cats, and lots of cat poop.
I went back in the living room, found the other phone, and knocked the receiver off the hook. It was slow going, because my hands were still behind my back and I had to dial by feel rather than sight. I managed to punch in Tim's number. I knelt down and used my shoulder and ear to get the receiver into position. Tim answered on the second ring.
"You answered! Thank God!" I closed my eyes with relief. "Listen, you've gotta help me. I'm at Nancy Winslow's. No wait. Beth's. Meet me in front of her house."
"Marty? Is that you? What's going on? Your mom is looking everywhere for you. You better call her. She's over at Charli's. She's really worried."
"Never mind that. I'll talk to her later. Just get over here. Hurry. It's an emergency."
"Well, okay, I was going to get in the shower. But I won't. I'll just toss on some clothes. You said Beth's? What are you doing there?"
"Tim, shut up! Just get you butt over here. Now!"
"Okay, okay, I'm on my way. Be there in ten minutes." He hung up.
I left the phone off the hook, went out the back door, and crossed the street. Beth's driveway was still empty, except for John's truck. Every time a car went past, I scrunched down behind the truck and hoped like crazy that it wasn't Beth. When Tim finally pulled up, I almost cried. It had only taken him eight minutes to get there, but it felt like hours.
"Get this freaking rope off me," I said, as soon as he cut the engine.
He took his time getting out. He had on a pair of raggedy looking shorts that showed off his knobby knees and a gray t-shirt that said 'Property of Glenvar PD'. He pulled a Glenvar High baseball cap off and ran his fingers through his hair. It didn't help; he had a serious case of 'hat-hair'.
He shot me that lopsided grin of his. "Hey, Marty, what's up?"
I felt like screaming, but I knew better. I turned my body around so he could see the ropes. He did his guppy impression, opening and closing his mouth without saying anything.
"What the…?” he finally managed to get out.
"Hurry up! Untie me! The stupid rope's cutting off my circulation. I'll tell you what happened while you work."
I told him the whole sordid story, starting with my decision to follow the T-bird. I finished just as the rope dropped to the ground. With a huge sigh of relief, I pulled my arms around front and massaged my wrists.
"We've gotta find her. She's lost it," I said. "No telling what she's gonna do next."
Tim reached over and brushed some gunk out of my hair. "Where do you think she went?"
"I don't know. She should be at work. She works that weekend schedule. Judging by the state she was in, I pretty much doubt it, though."
"Do you want me to call this in?"
"No! I want us to find her and get her some help. She needs help, Tim. I don't want her to feel any more cornered than she already does."
We looked at each other for a long time. "Tim, I'm scared. What if she, well, what if she hurts herself?"
He shook his head vigorously. "Don't even think about that. Not now. We need to be positive."
I agreed with him, but I couldn't seem to get those horrific thoughts completely out of my head. "We need to get going. You run by her house, I'll go to Charli's, see if she's heard anything. I'll call the hospital, too. See if Vanessa's there or if she called in."
He brushed at my hair some more. "What'd you do, wallow around in a spider web?"
We hopped in our vehicles and took off. I drove fairly slow, looking in all the parking lots and down every street for the maroon T-bird with the smashed in front bumper. The tears spilling down my face didn't help much.
30
As soon as I explained what happened, the Sheffield f
amily swung into action. It was a sight to behold. Mom called Dad and told him to cancel their dinner plans. Charli had already started making calls, too. The first one, to the hospital, confirmed that Vanessa hadn't gone in to work. After that, we all began calling everybody we could think of who knew Vanessa. We had decided not to let on that there was a problem, so Mom came up with a lame story about Vanessa's toilet springing a leak and flooding her downstairs. No one questioned it.
The last person who'd seen her, before me, was her baby-sitter. Vanessa had taken her kids over there a couple of hours early, but the woman hadn't seen or heard from her since. She promised Charli that she'd call if she heard from Vanessa.
Mom, Dad, and Tim each took their cars and I took John's truck out to search around town. The four of us spent the rest of the night driving around and around, looking everywhere we could think of. By three A.M., we all converged back at Charli's
Absolutely exhausted, but unable to sleep, we sat in Charli's cozy family room and talked the rest of the night, trying to make sense of the senseless. Mom, Dad, and Tim resumed the search as soon as it began to get light out Saturday morning.
I slugged down another cup of coffee, used Charli’s landline to call the guy in charge of our team, and told him I wasn’t going to be able to make it to the charity softball event. After I bailed out of the game, I resumed my search for Vanessa. No sign of the maroon T-bird anywhere. I did see Fred Thompson unlocking the door to his shop, though. I wheeled into his lot and followed him inside, anxious to hear if Zach had gotten out of jail. Fred stood beside the desk, looking at some mail. He didn't seem to have heard me open the door.
"Hey there, Mr. Thompson. How's it going?" I said.
He turned around, startled. "Why, hello there, Marty. How are you doing? What brings you by?"
The Doom Diva Mysteries Books 1 Page 17
