Murder Sends a Postcard (A Haunted Souvenir)

by Fifield, Christy

  I walked slowly, concentrating on just putting one foot in front of the other. Time didn’t seem to make any sense. I didn’t know whether I’d been walking for an hour or a week. It could have been either one.

  Far ahead I could see buildings. I knew they were the motels and fast-food restaurants that dotted the fringes of Keyhole Bay, though I couldn’t identify them at this distance. I had no clue how much farther I had to go. Half a mile? A mile? Two miles?

  Could I even see two miles away? I didn’t know, but the thought provided a welcome distraction. Anything was better than thinking about what could be happening in the empty model home in Bayvue Estates.

  Double and triple images danced in the distance, and I abandoned the effort to make them merge. It hurt too much to force my eyes into focus, so I let my eyelids droop and my vision blur. The pain receded slightly.

  I heard a car slow alongside me. Panic sent adrenaline surging through my exhausted body. Fight or flight, and I was too weak to fight.

  I dropped my stick and tried to run, tried to focus on the field beside me. To find a path away from the attack I knew was coming.

  But without the support of my stick, my legs refused to cooperate. My knees buckled, and I fell.

  Hard.

  I crawled, dragging myself along with my good arm. It didn’t matter where I was going. I just had to get away.

  “Glory!” I heard someone shouting my name.

  I glanced over my shoulder, still trying to crawl away. The figure of a man, of several men, loomed over me. A hand reached down and clamped around my arm, pulling me to my feet.

  A chill shot through me, and the world went black.

  Chapter 35

  “GLORY!”

  I heard my name again, from a long ways away. Somebody was shaking me, telling me to wake up.

  I didn’t want to.

  “Go ’way,” I said, swatting at whoever was jostling me. “Want to sleep.”

  “I can’t understand you,” a man said. His voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  “Go ’way,” I repeated as forcefully as I could.

  “Glory, look at me!” It was a command, and somewhere deep inside, an obedient child forced my eyes open in response.

  A broad, khaki-covered chest floated in front of my eyes, dozens of dark buttons dancing across the layers of fabric. I looked up from the chest to the face, closing one eye in an effort to bring his features into focus.

  “It’s Boomer, Glory. You know me.”

  Relief flooded my eyes with sudden tears.

  Boomer was here. I was saved.

  “Buddy,” I said. My tongue felt funny in my mouth, and I tried again. “Buddy.”

  Boomer’s face shifted and for a few seconds he had a single mouth, the corners turned up in a faint smile.

  “Yep, I guess I am your buddy about now.” He slid an arm underneath me, and raised my head slightly. “Can you sit up? We need to get you out of here.”

  He pulled me up. I grabbed at him, my fingers digging into his starched khaki shirt.

  “Buddy!” I yelled. “Have to save Buddy!”

  Boomer shook his heads. Head. I knew there was only one, in spite of what looked like two or three Boomers helping me to my feet. “That’s a nasty bump you got there,” he said. “How did you hurt your head?”

  I raised my hand to my head, feeling for the bump he said was there. I didn’t remember hitting my head on anything. I’d fallen and banged my knees, and my arm felt funny. But I couldn’t remember exactly why; and I didn’t remember hitting my head.

  I leaned heavily on Boomer. He had one arm around my waist, and my feet barely touched the ground as we walked back toward the sounds of traffic on the highway.

  Boomer put me in the passenger side of his cruiser and went around to slide under the wheel. He pulled out, headed back to town.

  “Stop!”

  This time he understood. He pulled abruptly back onto the shoulder, the car rocking to a sudden stop.

  “Glory, we need to get you to a doctor,” Boomer said, turning his head to look at me.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on forming the words he had to hear. “Must. Go. To. Bayvue.”

  I opened my eyes, silently begging him to hear the words I was trying to say.

  He nodded, two heads bobbing his understanding. “Why?”

  “Buddy. Danger. Needle.” I had to work to produce each word as clearly as I could, to make my lips and tongue and teeth cooperate to form the precise sounds. “Hurt.”

  “But you need a doctor.” He turned away, watching traffic.

  “Go. Now. May. Be. Dead.”

  His head whipped back around. “Dead?” he asked.

  “Maybe.”

  A siren, louder than I’d ever heard, stabbed into my skull. Colored lights flashed around me, and the car shot into traffic. The rear end squealed around in a high-speed U-turn, sending gravel showering across the road.

  I was forced back into my seat as Boomer accelerated toward the county road. Whatever he’d heard, it had convinced him. Now all I could do was hang on and hope we got there in time.

  Boomer flipped a switch on the dashboard, stabbed the brakes, and swung in a controlled slide around the corner onto the county road.

  As he straightened out, he began yelling. “Need backup at Bayvue Estates. Code Three. Possible drug overdose. Request emergency rescue unit meet me there.”

  For an instant he swiveled his head toward me then immediately back to the empty road ahead of him. “And send an ambulance. I have one casualty, unknown how many more are at the scene.”

  Boomer cut the lights and siren as the brick gateposts appeared on our right. I thought we were going to fly right past them, but he swung wide and fishtailed into the deserted development.

  I spotted my truck, still parked on the street. As we drew closer, the multiple images merged into one and held. I moved my head and they split apart again. But they had been one truck for several seconds.

  I turned to look at the second house and held my head steady while my brain slowly pulled the image into focus. Buddy’s rental car sat in the driveway alone.

  Lacey’s car was nowhere in sight, but I didn’t remember seeing it when I arrived. Was it hidden, or had she actually left?

  Boomer threw his door open.

  Moving slowly, I unbuckled the seat belt Boomer had put around me, and opened the door.

  “Stay there,” Boomer ordered, reaching past me to pull the door closed. “I’ll check it out.”

  “Wait.”

  He hesitated.

  “Lacey might be here.” The words came out slowly, but Boomer watched me as I spoke. “She had a needle.” I gestured to the bruise on the inside of my elbow where the needle had broken off. “She tried to give me a shot.”

  Boomer closed his door and looked at me as though I was finally making sense. My efforts were paying off.

  “Was there anyone else in the house?”

  “Buddy McKenna,” I said. “He was bleeding.”

  “McKenna? The McKenna woman’s brother? That’s who you were talking about.” I half expected to see a lightbulb go off over Boomer’s head. “He was here?”

  “Upstairs. Closet in the back bedroom.” A deep sadness welled up in me as I thought of Buddy left alone in that closet. “I couldn’t wake him up.”

  “I know how that feels,” Boomer muttered as he opened his door again. He slid out, crouching behind the open door.

  He stayed there for a minute or two, then darted quickly toward the house, flattening himself against the front wall. I saw him turn his head, and heard his voice speaking softly through the radio in the car.

  “There’s a second victim reported to be upstairs,” he said. “I’m going to check.”

  I could he
ar sirens coming in our direction, growing louder.

  “Backup is on the way,” the dispatcher said from the radio. “Hang on, you’ll have help in two minutes.”

  I could see Boomer moving toward the front door, crouching down below the windowsills and sliding along the front of the house.

  He reached the door just as the first car slid to a stop behind the cruiser where I waited. An officer in a protective vest, his gun drawn, jumped from the front seat and sprinted across the bare clay of the yard.

  Together, the two men entered the house. Boomer provided cover for the armored officer, then followed him inside.

  Another car pulled in ahead of Boomer’s and two more officers spilled out. The radio crackled with questions and terse answers as the two men inside made their way through the house.

  Repeated calls of “Clear” marked their progress as they checked for signs of life.

  As Boomer radioed that they were starting up the stairs, a rescue unit slammed to a stop in the middle of the road. Two paramedics piled out and began pulling equipment cases from the back of the truck.

  “Pool of blood in the upstairs hall, and blood on a cabinet door,” Boomer reported. “But no one here.”

  I felt a grim satisfaction at their discovery. I remembered a solid thud of the cupboard door as it hit Lacey. I felt certain the blood was hers.

  Payback.

  I listened as they made their way through the bedrooms, calling out each time they verified a room was empty. They cleared the master suite, and the second bedroom, without seeing anyone. All that was left was the back bedroom.

  The place I had last seen Buddy.

  A familiar car lurched to a stop next to the cruiser, blue and red lights strobing from a portable flasher. A tall figure burst from the door.

  Jake.

  He threw open the cruiser door and pulled me into a tight hug.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “I got here as quick as I could.”

  “Yes,” I answered, my face buried against his chest. “I’ll be fine, just as soon as I stop seeing double.”

  Jake pulled back and immediately started inspecting my head. He found the lump on my left temple, gently pushing aside my hair and inspecting the injury.

  “You need to see a doctor,” he said. “Why did Boomer bring you back out here instead of taking you directly to the hospital?”

  “I told him to.”

  “And he did what you told him, not what he should?” Anger tightened Jake’s voice.

  I started to explain, when Boomer interrupted me. “Second victim,” he said over the radio. “Head wound. Possible drug overdose. I need the paramedics up here now!”

  Jake released me. “Sure you’re okay?”

  I nodded.

  He sprinted across the front yard and disappeared into the open front door. Seconds later I heard his voice on the radio. Calm and confident sounding, he repeated information from the paramedics to the hospital emergency room and the incoming ambulance.

  But he didn’t sound like a volunteer repeating the words of others; he sounded like someone in charge. Someone who knew and understood exactly what was going on. Someone with more training and experience than Keyhole Bay could ever provide.

  The kind of person who read the things I’d seen on his bookshelf.

  But there would be time to speculate on that later. Right now I wanted to know about Buddy.

  The house was clear. Boomer had assured everyone of that in his last transmission. No reason I had to stay in the car.

  I opened the door and got out. For the first few seconds the ground tilted and swung around me as I clutched the door frame to steady myself. But eventually the world righted itself and I was able to let go of the car.

  Stepping with exaggerated care, I made my way to the front door and went inside. The staircase stretched in front of me, triggering memories of my last trip down it, clinging to the handrail and half crawling, half falling to the bottom.

  I tried to grip the rail with my left hand, but my arm still didn’t cooperate properly. Instead I leaned my good right arm against the wall and inched my way up.

  I was still a couple steps from the top when Boomer found me.

  “I told you to stay put,” he said, taking my hand and helping me up the last two steps. “Don’t you ever do what you’re told?”

  “I waited,” I said. My words came quicker now, but I still had to concentrate. “Until you said the house was clear.”

  “That doesn’t mean it was safe for you to go walking around,” he answered. He turned my back to the wall and gently pushed my shoulders down, forcing me to sit at the top of the stairs.

  “Is Buddy . . .”

  “They’re still working on him,” Boomer answered the question I couldn’t finish. “They’ll get him stabilized before they take him to the hospital. But the paramedics seem to think he’s going to make it.”

  That was the good news.

  “And Lacey?”

  Boomer shook his head. “No sign of her. But we have four states on the lookout for her car. She won’t get far.”

  I nodded and closed my eyes. “Can I sleep now?” I asked.

  “Fifteen minutes,” Boomer said. “You almost certainly have a concussion. I’ll see if I can find you some ice. And you have to wake up every fifteen minutes until the doctor says different.”

  I heard his rapid footsteps go down the stairs as I faded.

  Chapter 36

  SUDDEN COLD AGAINST MY SCALP JOLTED ME BACK TO awareness. Boomer held a towel to my temple, the ice inside it already beginning to melt in the afternoon heat.

  Drops of cool water slid down my cheek and splattered onto my grimy T-shirt. I looked down and realized I couldn’t tell what color the shirt had been when I put it on that morning.

  Two men in navy slacks and crisp white shirts hurried past me with a stretcher.

  They disappeared into a door at the end of the hall.

  Much later they wheeled the stretcher out of the room. This time there was a body strapped to it, tubes and wires running from under the draped sheet to beeping monitors and bags of clear fluid.

  As they neared the top of the stairs, I forced my way to my feet. I had to see for myself.

  Buddy’s face was nearly as pale as the stark white sheet. His eyes were closed, and he made a nasty gurgling sound with each breath. But he was breathing, and his eyelids fluttered as the paramedics rolled him down the hall.

  They reached the stairs and stopped to maneuver the stretcher into position to carry it down. Buddy’s eyes opened slightly, and he caught sight of me.

  The tube in his throat prevented him from speaking, but his expression of relief matched the emotion that passed over me.

  We were both alive. Something I wouldn’t have bet on a few hours earlier. I hoped someday he could tell me what had happened in those hours. But for now we both needed medical attention.

  The ambulance crew folded up the legs of the stretcher and made their way down the stairs. At the bottom I heard the legs click into place once again and the wheels clattered across the entry and out the door. A minute later the siren gave a chirp and the ambulance rolled away.

  Jake emerged from the back bedroom with the paramedics, helping them lug their equipment back to the truck.

  As I looked in his direction, I caught sight of the sagging cabinet door. A blossom of brownish dried blood marked the side facing the stairs.

  “I did that,” I said to Boomer, pointing at the door. “She was coming at me, and I hit her in the face with the door.”

  “I’d be willing to bet you broke her nose,” he said, “judging by the looks of it, and that puddle on the floor. I’ll be sure to add that to the bulletin.

  “If she goes for medical help, we might find her that way.”

  The three men r
eached us and stopped. Boomer took the equipment case away from Jake. “I’ll take this,” he said. “You take care of her and I’ll meet you at the emergency room.”

  He held out his hand. “Give me your keys,” he said. “I’ll see to it that someone brings your truck back into town.”

  The truck. “What time is it?”

  Jake glanced at his watch. “Half-past twelve. Why?”

  “Sly’s waiting for me. He was supposed to change the oil on the truck today.” I knew better than to even ask. There was no way Boomer would let me drive until I saw the doctor.

  I dragged the keys out of my pocket and reluctantly placed them in his upturned palm.

  “We’ll take it to Mr. Sylvester,” Boomer assured me. “But I suggest you call him so he doesn’t worry.”

  “I would, but I lost my phone somewhere.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Jake dug in his pocket and handed me my phone. Bloody fingerprints on the screen made clear when I had last tried to use it, and a shudder ran up my spine.

  Jake grabbed it and stuffed it back in his pocket. “Never mind,” he said. “You can use my phone when we get to the car.”

  He wrapped his arm around my waist and helped me down the stairs and out to his car. He retrieved his phone from the console, punched a couple buttons, and handed it to me. It was already ringing.

  When Sly answered, he seemed relieved to hear my voice. “Miz Julie called here looking for you. Said you’d gone out to talk to that banker fella and she knew you were supposed to bring the truck by today. You okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I assured him. “Had a little trouble, but it’s taken care of. Sorry for missing our lunch date.”

  He laughed, and I could imagine the wide grin on his face. “Yeah, well, don’t let that fella of yours know I’m beating his time. You be by later?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Boomer said he’d have someone drop the truck at your place and I can pick it up, but I don’t know quite when. Might be tonight before I can get over there.”